


dive out of nothing and into more

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety, F/F, Femslash February, Flying, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Wyverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: “Sorry, you want me to dowhat?!”“I wish for you to be riding my wyvern alongside me,” says Petra, tone mild but laced with concern.
Relationships: Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50
Collections: FE Femslash February 2020





	dive out of nothing and into more

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 29 of fe femslash february: soar! this has been a good month, if i do say so myself, so here's something soft and sweet to finish it out.
> 
> title from "see the day" from brian david gilbert's _dances moving_. enjoy!

“Sorry, you want me to do _what_?!”

So loud and shrill is Bernadetta’s shriek that she’s certain just about everybody in a five-mile radius of the palace of Brigid, where she—as an honored guest of the queen herself—is staying at present, can hear her. Even her own ears are ringing. She claps both hands over her mouth, but Petra continues looking at her with a stalwart smile, the earnestness of her calm stare making Bernadetta want to scream more. She’s not sure what she’s done to deserve such loyalty.

“I wish for you to be riding my wyvern alongside me,” says Petra, tone mild but laced with concern. “Are you having trouble understanding? I apologize—the language of Fódlan is still giving me some difficulties.”

“No, no, it’s not that! Your language is great,” says Bernadetta quickly. “It’s—it’s just, um. That’s kind of a lot, isn’t it? All the way up there in the air, on the back of a _wyvern—_ ”

“You were riding horseback often not that long ago. Am I mistaken?”

“Well, yeah! But a wyvern and a horse are really different! Like, um, one flies.” And it isn’t in the midst of a war where pretty much everything goes, Bernadetta doesn’t add.

Petra tilts her head. “You have been telling me you have been wanting to branch out, though. Is this not ‘branching out’?”

“I—I mean, I guess,” says Bernadetta, waving her hands about. “But, you know, I meant more along the lines of, like, drinking a different kind of tea or hanging out around the forest to start out with. Not jumping right aboard a wyvern.”

“We would not be jumping,” says Petra, brow twisting with confusion. “We would be flying.” At Bernadetta’s blank stare, her eyes widen. “Oh! You were not being literal. You have my apologies.” She places a hand on her chest and bows.

“No, no, no, you don’t need to apologize! I’m sorry, I should have—um—been clearer.”

“You are not needing to apologize for that either.” Petra shakes her head, firm, and rests her cheek on her knuckles. “Would you not be liking to do this? I was thinking that it might be something that you would enjoy, because it is quite fun once you are used to it, but if I am having the wrong impression, then I am sorry. I did not mean to be pressuring you, or—”

“Oh, no!” interrupts Bernadetta. “You’re fine. It’s just—” She bites her lip, thinking about what she could see from that high up—if she manages not to puke while looking down to begin with, anyway. All of the artistic bones in her body are itching for that kind of experience. “I’m scared,” she admits.

Petra cocks her head. “Scared? What are you being—” She makes a small sound of frustration. “What are you scared of?”

“W-Well, it’s _really_ new.” Bernadetta rubs her arm. “And it’ll be pretty high up off the ground, right? So what if—what if I fall? Or hurt myself in some other way? You’ve done this thing plenty of times before, but I—” Gnawing the skin off her lip, Bernadetta shakes her head and winces when her teeth snag at her already stinging skin. “It’s just, um, kind of a lot.”

For a moment, Petra only studies her, processing. Then she raises her chin and asks, “Oh, is that all?”

Bernadetta’s mind reels. She’s about to say, aghast, _What do you mean,_ “Is that all,” but before she can do much more than open her mouth, Petra smiles and leans forward to lay her hand on Bernadetta’s shoulder, gentle yet grounding. All of the thoughts on Bernadetta’s tongue are snuffed out just like that.

Petra holds her gaze. “I will be keeping you safe,” she says, a simple promise that holds weight nonetheless. “You do not need to worry about your safety around me.”

 _Oh_ , thinks Bernadetta, feeling her entire face go red. Petra doesn’t point out her sudden blush, only staring at her with that bright-eyed determination in her face. Her confidence fills Bernadetta with a slower trickle of courage.

“I—” she starts, and then she stops, looking down. “If I want to get down at any point, we’ll get down?”

“We will not be… _getting down_ right away,” says Petra, lifting her hand from Bernadetta’s shoulder, “because that would be dangerous, but yes, we will go back down eventually. As I have been saying, I will keep you safe, Bernie. I once worried about such things myself, and I was alone—but if we are together, I can be looking out for you.”

Bernadetta takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes. The image of herself, tucked behind Petra on the back of a wyvern, pops up in her mind: Bernadetta clinging to Petra’s waist, strong and solid before her. Her wyvern glides low, not quite breaking the clouds, as they hover above the wide expanse of the sea. It unnerves Bernadetta, scary enough from a distance but even more so up close—the ground would seem so far, such a long way to fall, but the water would make for a softer landing. Oh, but the ocean is deep, isn’t it? And the impact would still hurt.

But Petra had promised to keep her safe, so surely she would stay near the shallow ends or make sure there would be no possibility of Bernadetta falling at all. Maybe the ocean would be a weird first trip, too.

Trust is hard for Bernadetta to put into words. Her family, the people she should have been able to trust most, had broken her trust when she was young, when she should have been able to rely upon them to keep her safe. Since then, she’s been scared of people, scared of opening up enough to trust anyone but herself.

But she’s grown a lot in the past handful of years. And—her allies, she trusts them. And the look in Petra’s eyes right now? That could provide Bernadetta with the faith to power the strongest white magic spell in the world.

“All right,” she says, choosing not to think about how long she’s been keeping Petra waiting. “I’ll—I’ll go with you. It does sound fun.”

Petra pumps her fist. Coming from anyone else, it would be dorky if not outright laughable, but from Petra, it’s just cute. “You have my gratitude, Bernie! I will be seeing you tonight then.”

She’s walking away before Bernadetta can pick her jaw back up, and once her mind catches up, she’s only able to blurt, “ _Tonight_?! Oh, jeez…”

*

They embark at sunset the next day instead of that night, because try as she might have, Bernadetta hadn’t been able to psyche herself up soon enough. Petra had been very understanding about it, but Bernadetta can’t help feeling a little guilty tonight. A braver part of her kicks that guilt away. It’s not her fault, she tells herself, that her brain just can’t adjust that fast. She manages to set off with a smile to match Petra’s.

Brigid is warm this time of year—and all-year-round, as far as Petra has told Bernadetta—so there’s none of the frigidity of nights back in the Empire. It’s not too humid either, though, so a sense of comfort already hangs (literally) in the air. Bernadetta can’t help but wonder how the temperature will feel higher up. She resigns herself to _not_ wondering too much, because her thoughts tend to spiral.

Petra takes her out to the wyvern stables, where the trusty wyvern she’d ridden during the war lives. It’s a large wyvern, more than big enough for both of them to ride, easing some—but far from all—of Bernadetta’s fears.

Bernadetta hangs back while Petra gears the wyvern up and guides it outside. She’s always been more inclined toward animals than people, but wyverns still hit a little too close to the grim visage of the Immaculate One always lurking at the back of her mind. Which, in retrospect, she could have mentioned as one of her concerns.

When Petra finishes up and continues to only stand there, an expectant but kind look on her face, Bernadetta straightens up in faint alarm. “Um, aren’t you going to get on?”

“Yes, but I will be doing so after you.”

“After me? You—you mean I’ll be in front?” Petra nods, and Bernadetta’s fantasies fly (ha) right out the window. “But you’re shorter than me,” she points out, hoping she doesn’t sound too desperate and pretty sure she comes across as it anyway. “So wouldn’t it, um, be easier for you to sit in front of me?”

“That is correct, yes. But I believe I am having more physical strength—” Petra flexes, and though she scowls in defense of her back muscles, Bernadetta’s whole vision goes white for a split second “—and my hair is longer, so I do not wish for it to be flying back into your face.” Thinking of having hair in her mouth—having someone _else’s_ hair in her mouth—Bernadetta winces. “And besides,” adds Petra, “it will be easier for me to take care of you if you fall.”

“Er—is it really that likely that I’ll fall?”

Petra shakes her head so firmly it whips her hair around her face. “With me behind you, it will not be,” she says, promise emphasized by the fist she places over her chest. Bernadetta swallows. “You should try getting on now.”

“Oh! R-Right.”

Though more awkward than she would be climbing onto a horse, Bernadetta applies the movement here, swinging her legs up so they rest on either side of the wyvern’s lowered torso. She presses her hands to its scaly back to steady herself. The texture beneath her palms surprises her—she’d expected it to be rough, of course, but aside from the general scaliness and bumps where each part begins, it’s soft and smooth, the sunlit sheen apparently not only for show. She can’t help herself from reaching further up the neck to almost pet the wyvern. It gives a small snort.

Bernadetta is almost reminded of her carnivorous plants; they’re mean-looking and lethal to any bugs that step within, but they never bite her. “Hey, you’re just a big sweetheart, huh?”

“She has a very sweet heart indeed,” boasts Petra as she climbs on behind Bernadetta. Bernadetta’s heart stutters as a pair of arms twine, light but sturdy and secure, around her torso. “Are you prepared?”

Bernadetta tries for a peppy tone: “Um, yeah! Or at least I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Petra whistles. They take flight without a hitch, and Bernadetta, heart dropping into her guts, lets loose an instinctual yelp as they lift up. She squeezes her eyes shut rather than give in to the temptation to look down at the ground they’re leaving. Her stomach wobbles, but Petra’s arms around her waist and the wyvern beneath her keep her steady. She clings to the wyvern’s neck.

“Where are we going?” she manages to ask over her shoulder—then she repeats it in a near-yell when Petra informs her it’s been lost in the wind.

“You are the one leading,” Petra calls back. “It is your decision.”

“Oh—um—” Responsibility being tosses into Bernadetta’s hands like a game of hot potato will never go well. She keeps her eyes closed as they hover there in midair for a moment, the wyvern’s wings beating against the air. “I guess we can just, like, float around for a while? I—I don’t really know much about air navigation, so, um—” Her voice tapers out.

The wyvern snorts like she understands. Bernadetta wouldn’t be surprised; if she’s as smart as her owner, then no doubt she understands Fódlan’s tongue by now.

They continue on, Bernadetta’s stomach flipping and flopping even without visuals. Petra leans back a little, and though it’s already balmy enough to soothe her even as they lift higher up, Bernadetta misses the added warmth. “The view is magnificent from up here, Bernie—you should be having a look! I promise that you will not be regretting it.”

Petra’s promises are dangerous, Bernadetta decides. She takes a deep breath and peels her eyes open. Once she gets rid of the feeling of _Oh Goddess we’re moving I’m going to throw up right off the side of this wyvern oh Sothis Seiros and Cichol we are so far from the ground right now_ (with about a dozen exclamation points afterward and in between), she has to concur with Petra: It really _does_ look great up here. The sunset envelops the horizon in a purple glow. All of the buildings in the distance—including the palace itself, Bernadetta realizes with surprise—cast dark silhouettes that frame the sun. Bernadetta’s fingers itch for a paintbrush to attempt to capture the rich blend of color and perspective—or a quill to scrawl down the mess of emotions within her.

“Wow,” is all she can say, more a breath than a real word.

Behind her, Petra laughs. “Are you seeing—do you see what I mean?”

“Definitely,” says Bernadetta, meaning it in more ways than one. She keeps her gaze fixed firmly ahead, not wanting to think too hard about the shuddering movements beneath her as they keep moving nor their increasing distance from the ground.

“So you are not having fear anymore?”

“Oh, no! I mean, yes—I mean, I’m still super scared,” admits Bernadetta, another jolt of her organs confirming it, “like—I feel like I’m going to all at any second, you know? Not that I don’t trust you to keep me safe or anything—” she laughs, shrill, at the reminder of Petra’s words “—but it’s hard not to think of things like that this high up. Oh, but I’m having a good time! I think!”

“That is good to hear.” Petra’s grip on Bernadetta’s stomach relaxes. “I am thinking that we should get down soon before Bernie will be—er—hyperventilating, I think you are calling it, but I am relieved that you are having fun.”

“Yeah, for sure!” Before she can think better of it, Bernadetta lays one of her hands over Petra’s. She hears a small intake of breath behind her. “Um, so not tonight, but I—I think I’d like to see the sea from up here sometime,” she says, anxiety turned to daydream with a metaphorical snap of the fingers. “And—and other places, too. I’d have to get used to it, but it might be nice to, like, scope places out before we—um—touch down, right?”

“Wyvern riders have been known for their role in stealth missions for many years,” notes Petra. “That is a good plan, Bernie. I will have much gratitude if you will be coming with me more.”

“Aha, well—” Bernadetta can’t come up with a witty reply to that, so she lapses into silence. Some things don’t need a response. Sometimes—most times, she’d say if she didn’t yell more often than she’s comfortable with—it’s nice to just sit together without saying a word. Though she’d never thought about this specific scenario in a positive light before.

She taps the wyvern’s neck to signal her to stop where they are. With a huff, the wyvern hovers in place, wings beating still as they bob up and down.

Bernadetta watches the sun dip in the sky, continuing its trek toward the horizon line. Hues of brilliant purple and pink and blue paint the sky. Stars are already fading into visibility high above them, their alignment so different from back in Fódlan. Bernadetta commits the sight to memory, taking in as much as she can so she’ll be able to put it to canvas or parchment later or even just keep it for herself. Perhaps someday she’ll be able to frame landscapes in the clever way nature itself does.

“I’m—I’m glad that you invited me,” she manages. Even though her heart is still stammering (albeit stabilizing), even though her stomach is still all knotted up (and untwisting another tie each moment), even though her mind is still running wild (though the positive thoughts far outweigh the negative now). “Thank you, Petra.”

She isn’t dipping a toe out of her comfort zone as she’d planned. This is more like plunging her entire lower half into the deep end, and it could have gone much, much worse.

But Petra—and her wyvern, whom Bernadetta should learn the name of—are here, and they would have helped her if it had, if Bernadetta had been too nervous after all or her mood had dropped as the altitude rose or she had gotten hurt somehow. Of that, Bernadetta is more confident than she has been of most things tonight.

“Thank you for agreeing, Bernie,” returns Petra, smile audible. “I am not completely understanding why, but I am knowing that this is difficult for you. You have much courage to be here despite that.”

Bernadetta swallows. Kind words won’t erase her insecurities, whether rooted in reality or the twists and turns her mind takes on it, but to be told she’s courageous by someone as brave and bold and brilliant as Petra—well, it makes her feel like she can be if she isn’t already.

Emboldened, Bernadetta twists her head to kiss Petra solidly on the cheek. She’s blessed with the sight of Petra’s eyes widening in pleased surprise and the edges crinkling with a smile before, impulsivity sizzling out in favor of embarrassment, Bernadetta turns back around. The gentle breeze stirs her hair around her face. Locks are getting into her eyes, but as swathed in warmth stemming from more than one source as she is, she can’t bring herself to mind.

Petra’s arms squeeze her waist. “Would you like to be heading back now?”

“No,” says Bernadetta, and the confidence in her voice takes even her by surprise. Still, she smiles as she looks to the sunset, clinging to the wyvern’s neck and leaning back into Petra’s comforting embrace. “Let’s just stay like this for a while, okay?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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